


saving nickels, saving dimes

by CoffeeStars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstanding, Mutual Pining, Originally Posted on Tumblr, blue bayou fic, brief Sid/OMC, i like stories where Geno is very romantic and loving and Sidney is lonely and in need of love, the biggest pining fic I have ever written, vibing like those early 90s romantic movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 19:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15322374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeStars/pseuds/CoffeeStars
Summary: Poor Sidney, is what Geno must think. Poor, poor, lonely Sidney. Unloved, unwanted. What a shame it is, to be the best player in his generation but still be no one at the same time.





	saving nickels, saving dimes

**Author's Note:**

> Update 7/22/18 - Graphic made by the talented and lovely cakemakethme on tumblr <3 <3

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sidney’s been waking up with the sun for the past few days now.

His phone, clutched in his hand, flashes two texts from Geno, and one from Thomas.

 _I had a great time yesterday_ , Thomas’ text says.  _I’d love to take you out again. There’s a burger place downtown and I think you’d love it_.

Sidney doesn’t say he’s pretty much been to every restaurant Cole Harbour has to offer. It’s not the biggest town. And perhaps Sidney should feel a little wary about dating in his hometown, but no one’s spared him and Thomas a second look.

He doesn’t look at Geno’s texts. It’s probably another photo of him on the beach with that girl, and he doesn’t really want to know more than he has to.

Maybe he’s a little selfish. Maybe he’s being irrationally ridiculous. Geno just wants to share his happiness, and as a good friend, Sidney should respond.

It should be okay to be selfish for once. Flower’s always said he’s spent too long caring after his team and not enough after himself.

 _That sounds great_ , he sends back to Thomas instead.  _What time_?

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Thomas?” Taylor says, her mouth full of corn flakes stolen from Sidney’s cabinets. “You’re dating a guy named Thomas? Like the train?”

“What? No. Like the person. It’s a normal name.”

Taylor leans in. “Is he Russian?” she says lowly, like they’re sharing a secret.

“No, Thomas isn’t a Russian name. Or. I don’t think so? What does that have to do with anything?

She sits back, puzzled. “What happened to the last guy?” she asks instead. “What was his name?”

“Richard. And we only went out for drinks once. Turns he was just into hockey and not. You know.”

“Into you,” Taylor clarifies.

“Sure,” Sidney says. “I wish you’d stop eating my cereal, you literally run through the whole box in two days.”

“Use your NHL money to buy more,” Taylor says. “But seriously? Richard? Maybe the next guy you’ll date will be named Harry, and  _then_ you’ll have dated every Tom, Dick, and Harry in this town.”

“You’re not funny.” Sidney sits down, snatching the box back.

“Okay, Heartbreaker,” Taylor says. “My roommate has a brother named Harry. Harry Portman. You want me to get his number?”

“Please don’t,” Sidney says. “I don’t want you to wingman me.”

“I just don’t want you to turn into a hermit.”

“I go outside,” Sidney argues. “I went fishing yesterday.”

“You fish every day,” Taylor throws back. “And I saw you. You were just sitting on the docks watching the sunset.”

“People do that!”

“Yeah, our great-aunt, maybe. But she’s like, 90,” Taylor pauses, turning her attention on Sidney’s flashing phone. “Who’s that?”

Sidney barely glances down. “Geno.”

“He’s been texting you a lot.”

“Yeah, every day,” Sidney replies absently.

She raises an eyebrow. “I think he misses you,” she says carefully.

“He doesn’t. They’re all just photos of him with some girl that he met a month ago. They went to Florida for vacation, and I think he said they’re going to go to Russia in the next couple of days.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sidney snaps. At Taylor’s stricken expression, he looks away. “Sorry. I just—I mean, it doesn’t really matter what he does. It doesn’t affect me.”

Taylor’s quiet for a while.

“Hey, Sid, I won’t eat your cereal anymore,” she says gently, like a peace offering.

“No, no, it’s okay, I can buy more, I was just messing with you,” Sidney says quickly. “I like it when you come over.”

She knows exactly how Sidney feels towards Geno, despite Sidney never saying it aloud. It’d sound dumb, anyways. ‘ _I love a man who can’t love me back, and every day I hope that a miracle will happen and I’ll finally be happy_ ,’ sounds like the plot of those 21st century romantic dramas that keep coming out every summer. Taylor and Sidney both avoid them like the plague.

He doesn’t know whether to be annoyed at himself for being so transparent, irritated at Taylor for being observant, or thankful that there’s someone close to him who understands just how lonely he is without him having to admit it.  

“I know,” she says, and dumps the rest of the box into her bowl, corn flake dust and all. “I got you, Squid.”

It’s definitely the last one, Sidney decides.

“How’d you meet Thomas, anyways?”

“Well. It was at the grocery store. I was buying that cereal, actually,” Sidney starts, and Taylor chokes out a laugh.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

_“Where you go, Sid?” Geno asks, after barely pulling back from their hug._

_They’re the last ones in the locker room, the rest of the team having already dispersed with their families after the loss. Sidney’s too exhausted to process the game, too numb for the reality of losing their grasp at the Cup yet again to beat himself up over it properly. Geno’s hand, big and reassuring, is still on his bicep, like he’s keeping him grounded._

_“I’m going home,” Sidney says, confused._

_“No, mean for summer.”_

_“Oh.” Sidney hasn’t thought about that yet. “I might go back to Cole Harbour.”_

_“Again?” Geno teases. “Home not vacation.”_

_“I think I need some time by myself. It’s been a rough year,” Sidney admits, but when he sees Geno’s gaze soften, turn sympathetic, he quickly changes the topic. He can’t deal with this, not right now. “You going back to Russia?”_

_“Maybe after,” Geno says. “Florida nice right now. Always nice.”_

_“You don’t change it up either,” Sidney huffs._

_“You should join,” Geno says. “Go to beach, have fun, I’m take you out. Maybe you even meet special person, she spend summer together so you not stay in Cole Harbour alone again—”_

_Sidney pulls away abruptly. He doesn’t exactly avoid Geno’s eyes when he answers him, trying for a smile and praying Geno doesn’t notice._

_“I’ll text you,” Sidney says, patting Geno’s arm. “Enjoy your summer, G.”_

_“Sid, wait—”_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“You have the greatest laugh,” Thomas tells him one day, after Sidney had demolished his burger and is steadily working his way through the Oreo shake. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone laugh like that.”

“It’s because I have an ugly laugh,” Sidney says wryly. “I sound like a goose.”

“Geese are cute. From far away,” Thomas says. “It’s cute.”

He likes the way Thomas talks, measured and never too loud. Listening to him talk about his day at work at the university as a professor reminds Sidney a little of sitting on the docks and watching the sun set, slowly but surely. He likes the way he moves his hands when he talks, likes how tall he is so that Sidney has to look up to kiss him.

(Sometimes Geno speaks too quickly, when he wants to get a thought across, and he’s never afraid to shout across the table at their team outing in some bar to playfully heckle a rookie.)

Thomas’ voice, Sidney thinks, that he’d like to come home to. Anyone would like to come home to something like that.

But it doesn’t make his heart race, not the way Geno’s excited yelps of ‘ _Sid_ ’ does when he scores a goal. Or the way he looks at Sidney during their last Cup party, years ago, bright and adoring like he almost can’t contain it as he drags Sidney down into the pool with him.

Sidney wonders if there’s maybe something the matter with himself.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Thomas kisses him goodnight at the door, a peck on the cheek that leaves Sidney’s skin burning.

“Wait,” Sidney says, pulling him back by his wrist. “Don’t you want to come in?”

“Do you want me to?”

Sidney doesn’t date—it’s not like that there’s lots of opportunities in Pittsburgh (or Nova Scotia, for that matter), where almost everyone knows his face, and he can barely remember the last time he’s really been kissed—a real, heart-fluttering, all-consuming kiss that makes Sidney’s knees weak.

He’d always assumed love would make him heartsick like it does with Geno, like when Geno sits just a little too close at breakfast time in the nook, or when he holds Sidney just a smidge tighter than he does with Tanger during their celly, and he slips into yet another daydream. Dreams about a Geno who could care for him just as deeply and desperately as Sidney does, who doesn’t mind sharing Sidney’s quiet and secluded corner of the world—the docks, the lake, the summer house in Cole Harbour—that’s basically as much a physical extension of Sidney’s heart as can be.

(He’s always come to the conclusion that Geno would hate it. It’s too quiet. Too dull. The waves on the lake are still and not like the waves Geno raves about in Miami. There’s nothing Sidney can give to Geno that he doesn’t already have except for himself, but Geno doesn’t want that. It breaks Sidney’s heart more than he had expected it to.)

“I don’t know,” Sidney says honestly. He feels awful.

Thomas cups Sidney’s cheek, smiling. “It’s okay,” he says. “Maybe next time, yeah?”

He feels pathetic. “I don’t want you to go.”

It’s the truth. He doesn’t want to be alone.

“Want to watch a movie?” Thomas suggests.

An hour later, when Thomas lays Sidney back on the couch, pulling off his own shirt, Sidney’s phone flashes bright with a notification where he left it on the counter.

It’s Geno, Sidney thinks. It’s always Geno.

“Have you done this before?” Thomas asks, trailing kisses down Sidney’s inner thigh.

“I—” He resists the urge to shut his legs, push himself back, and hide away. He’s only kissed a boy once, a drunken, two second peck in juniors that to this day, neither he nor the guy has brought the incident up again. And in a foolish, hopeful section of his heart, Sidney’s always imagined Geno to be the one between his legs, nibbling on his neck and belly and thighs all while murmuring sweet phrases to him languages Sidney can’t understand,  _loving_ him, right here in his Cole Harbour living room. “What does it matter?”

Thomas studies him, his expression unreadable.

“It doesn’t,” he says finally. “I just wanted to know what you liked.”

“I’d like it if you took your pants off,” Sidney says, feeling bold.

Thomas’ eyes turn dark, and Sidney know he must’ve said the right thing.  

It’s only when Thomas goes to the bathroom to grab a towel and Sidney laying there, boneless and wrung out, that he realizes that he’s missed a sunset for the first time since coming back from Pittsburgh.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Geno always wants to call.

Always wants to share about his time at the zoo petting the penguin chicks, or dancing the night away in a club in France, or brunch in Switzerland with the massive group of Russians who all seem to know each other on a nickname basis.

“What you do so far?” Geno asks, his voice through the phone sounding tinny and just as far away as he actually is. 

“Not much. Went fishing, trained, had dinner with Nate. Taylor’s coming over in a bit, and I’m prepping the beef stew our mom makes that she likes,” Sidney says, leaning the phone against his shoulder so he can fiddle with the tomato he’s trying to slice. “Tell me more about your trip. You went swimming with a shark?”

“Whale shark,” Geno says, then quickly changes the topic. “But want to hear about  _your_ day. You having fun at home?”

 “So much,” Sidney says dryly. “It’s not swimming with sharks fun, but…”

 Geno makes a noncommittal noise, like he’s brushing the matter off like it’s not as impressive as it sounds. “Maybe meet a nice Canadian girl finally?”

Geno’s tone is teasing, but it strikes something in Sidney that he can’t name. Something between bitter envy and disappointment in himself for crushing on someone who’d never love him and maybe even annoyance at Geno’s insistence to fix his loneliness by pushing onto him this faceless woman who is supposed to magically undo years of pining and heartache by her mere presence.

So he hears himself say, “No, no girls. I met a nice boy, though.”

Geno is quiet on the other end of the line, so Sidney pushes on, half-rambling. “We went to get burgers and a shake. It was really good, he was funny. Really sweet. He drove me back to my house and everything. He texted me if I wanted a third date and I think I might go.” 

For ten terrible seconds, Geno says nothing.

“Geno?” Sidney whispers. “Geno, are you still there?”

“Yes,” Geno says, like the air has been punched out of him, but recovers so quickly that Sidney thinks he might’ve hallucinated it. “So glad you happy, find someone nice so not spend summer alone again.”

“Yeah,” Sidney says. Geno’s nothing but supportive, but somehow, in some warped level of Sidney’s understanding, it’s still, quite simply, a reminder of how Geno can’t love him the way Sidney wants him to. Doesn’t think about waking up next to Sidney and placing kiss after kiss on sleep-softened cheeks to wake him up like Sidney had often dreamed himself. Can’t be happy with Sidney the same way Sidney is when he’s around Geno, and isn’t that such a shame? “I guess so.”  

“Tell me about him,” Geno demands suddenly. “What he look like? He play hockey? He nice to you?”

“Maybe next time,” Sidney lies, turning to his empty Le Creuset, sitting on the stove. “Look, I have to go, my stew’s going to boil over.”

There’ll never be a next time, not if he can help it.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Taylor’s lounging on the armchair, crunching on a bowl of chips, when she gestures at the TV, as Meg Ryan meets Tom Hanks for the first time on top of the Empire State Building.

“I think growing up with movies like this ruined me,” she says, as the instrumentals swell and Meg takes Tom’s hand. “You think when you’re an adult that falling in love with someone is going to be like this, but it’s just a bunch of people asking if you’ve hooked up with the guy and then telling you who they know who also hooked up with him, like it’s a competition. It’s kind of depressing.”

Sidney’s half-paying attention to the screen as he taps through his Snapchat feed. “Huh?”

“I’m just saying that sending someone a thirst DM is different from wooing them with roses and handwritten letters.”

Sidney frowns. “Who sent you a thirst DM?”

“No one,” Taylor says. “Hey, you know what it means? I’m impressed.”

“I’m 30, not dead.” He folds his arms, staring. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She waves her hand. “Does Thomas send you thirst DMs?”

“I’m not talking about that with you.”

“He does. See? Romance is dead. Also yeah, you’re right, I don’t want to know.” She stretches luxuriously in her seat, getting comfortable. “Geno texting you?”

“I have other friends, you know,” Sidney says.

“Yeah, me.”

“You’re not my friend,” he throws back.

“You’re right,” Taylor snickers. “You’re my mom.”

Sidney stops tapping as the screen switches to Geno’s story—the first one is of him standing next to a ridiculously long baguette, pointing at it for some reason. The next is him surrounded by roses at a flower shop, pink, red, and yellows blending into a sea of petals.  _Pretty_! the captions says.

But Sidney’s already seen that one—Geno had sent that particular photo to him personally.

He wishes Geno would stop. He doesn’t know what else to say besides a thumbs up emoji or a ‘Nice! Looks like fun’ that sounds hollow even to himself.

So he just doesn’t respond at all anymore.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

A package from France is waiting for him when Sidney gets back from his run.

 _Really good! Take you there next time,_ the scribbled note, sitting on top of the shreds of packaging and the wine, reads.  _Chocolates, too. Only milk chocolate, know you not like dark._

Sidney puts both in the back of his cabinet, still empty save for a couple of chicken noodle soup cans and extra, unopened cereal boxes.

If he collects more things, he wonders, will Cole Harbour feel more like a home?

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Thomas is snoring next to him, one arm draped over Sidney’s stomach, when the phone buzzes next to Sidney’s cheek.

“‘ello?” he mutters.

“Hi, Sid,” Geno says. It sounds like there’s commotion wherever he is, a woman speaking and laughing floating in intermittently. “I wake you up?”

“Geno, it’s…” He stares blearily at the digital numbers glowing by the bed. “…2:14 in the morning.”

“Fuck, I get time wrong, I’m think it’s only 11—”

“What is it, G?” he cuts in, then rubs his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Is nothing, just want to hear your voice,” Geno says apologetically. “Is weird, not have to see you at 6 AM at rink every day.”

“What, you miss me or something?” Sidney says, laughing softly.

“Yes,” Geno says easily, taking Sidney’s breath away like he’s commenting on the weather. “Miss you. Every day.”  

That was one of the first things Sidney fell in love with, the uncomplicated way Geno dealt with the world. If Geno sees crème brulee on the menu, he orders it. If he sees a pretty girl he likes, he asks if she’d like to dance. If he knows Sidney is having a bad day, he drives over with donuts from Sidney’s favorite guilty pleasure bakery and talks about his family until Sidney forgets why he was frustrated in the first place. If he loves someone, he loves them with his whole heart that it’s almost palpable. It makes Sidney fantasize of such impossible things that he often tricks himself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, if he waits long enough, today will be different.

“You seem to be having a great time without me.”

“Yes, is fun,” he replies. “But think would be more fun with you. See cheesecake yesterday, think, Sidney would love, is his favorite, so I take picture. Is why I send photos, but you stop respond.”

He can’t tell Geno that he’d thought the photos were Geno’s way of chirping Sidney for being a summer shut-in. Can’t tell him that he knows those photos must be documenting Geno’s dates, and who’s on the other side of the camera, out of frame, and how dreadfully empty it makes him feel, without sounding like a jealous, self-centered creep.  

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know.”

“Is okay, just call to make sure you not die alone in little Canadian cabin,” he says, and Sidney could hear that crooked smile in that tone.

“It’s not a cabin, it’s a real house—”

“Sid?” Thomas murmurs, squinting awake. Sidney nearly jolts off the mattress. “Wha’s happening? Is morning?”

“No, it’s still early, I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand over the speaker. “I should’ve taken this outside—”

“Who’s that?” Geno asks. His voice sounds brittle, but it might just be the connection. “Is that—”

“Hey, listen, I’ll call you back,” Sidney say quickly, turning to his side. “And happy early birthday. It’s coming soon, isn’t it? A week? No, two.”

“Yeah, you remember,” Geno says faintly.

“Of course I remember, it’s important. Circled it on my calendar and everything,” Sidney says.

That gets Geno to laugh. “You not just save on phone? Like old man, Sid.”

“I like writing things down, helps me remember.” Sidney pulls the covers up, settling back down. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Geno says. “Good night, Sid.”

There’s a photo of a cheesecake in their chat the next day, dotted with chocolate chips and piped to perfection with vanilla bean crème.

 _Wish I was there_ , Sidney types back.

 _Bring some back for you,_ Geno writes immediately, even though it must be in the middle of the night for him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Three days later, a nondescript box is sitting innocuously on his front step. An irrational side of him hopes it’s the cheesecake.

It’s not, though.

 _See store in Switzerland sell good luck stuff animal. Pens colors!_ the postcard reads, each letter rounded with Geno’s blocky handwriting.  _Magic bear win us every game next season._

The teddy bear’s eyes flash at Sidney, its fur clean and brushed with a gold and black bow tied handsomely around its neck. Sidney closes his eyes briefly and allows himself to pretend for a moment that it there might be something really magic about the bear, just like Geno had said.

He sends a photo of the bear, propped up against the window with the sunset and the lake as a backdrop.

 _He loves his new home_ , he writes.  _What should I name him?_

 _Zhenya_ , Geno’s text says.

_What does that mean?_

_)))) tell you when I see u_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Thomas throws in the towel two days after Zhenya the bear arrives, so maybe it’s not such a magic bear after all.

“I’m sorry, Squid,” Taylor says, when Sidney breaks the news to her. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t think Thomas was Prince Charming or anything. And I didn’t want to tell you this before, but Mom also didn’t think too much of him after he only ate like one slice of her peach cobbler.”

“It’s okay, I’m not mad,” Sidney says, then reconsiders. “I  _am_  a little pissed. He could’ve told me he was planning on moving to New York from the start.”

Cole Harbour had never been long-term for Thomas, career-wise, which made sense now that Sidney really sits down to think about it. And yeah, Sidney’s the same way—by the end of the summer, he has to go back to Pittsburgh, but maybe a small part of him was working up the courage to ask Thomas to move with him, because that was just what people he knew  _did_. He’s heard of rookies, freshly drafted, having their girlfriends of three weeks moving in with them, and he’s always felt a kind of inadequacy about himself.

It’s passed his mind one too many times that he’s not worth loving. He’s too strange, too awkward, too one-track minded on a career that can’t last his whole life, not enough. Sometimes he loathes sitting at team dinners and listening to his teammates talk about their girlfriends or wives or wives-to-be and babies. What used to be ‘ _that’ll be me someday_ ’ has long ago morphed into ‘ _it’s never going to happen, you have to learn how to be happy with yourself_ ’ along with his excuses of early morning training to get out of meeting Geno’s new girl, or being dragged to a rookie outing with their girlfriends.

He had just gotten used to coming home and seeing Thomas’ coat draped on the couch, his books scattered on the kitchen counter. He’d entertained the thought of having someone to bring to family skate and of coming home into someone’s arms after a crushing loss, and of  _finally_  forgetting his stupid hope that Geno could see him the way he wanted to be seen, that he’d just gone ahead by himself and planned everything out with the assumption that he could learn to fall in love later.

Maybe after so many years, he only wanted someone— _anyone_ , really—on his arm to show Geno so Geno can stop looking at him with barely-concealed sympathy.

(Poor Sidney, is what Geno must think. Poor, poor, lonely Sidney. Unloved, unwanted. What a shame it is, to be the best player in his generation but still be no one at the same time.

“I’m happy by myself,” he’d said once, and he’d been in a good mood then, and it’d almost felt true.

But when Geno had given him that expression, like he knows Sidney’s lying, it’d made him furious and devastated all at once. He’d been sick of pining silently and he’d though that was bad enough, but being pitied by that very same person is so, so much worse.

He can’t imagine what Geno would say to him if he knew how long and how much Sidney has loved him.)

So no matter how he cuts it, it’s his own fault through and through.

He didn’t cry when Thomas told him he was leaving. But everything about the living room looks like it’s missing half of someone, and the emptiness of his own house that he’d never noticed before seems more visceral than anything else at this very moment. And losing Thomas somehow makes it feel like he’s failed somehow. Failed to make another person happy. Failed to make himself happy.

“Whirlpool romance,” Taylor says. “No. It’s whirlwind. My bad.”

“More like a hot tub on low batteries romance,” Sidney says. “I don’t think it would’ve gone anywhere even if he stayed.”

“Do hot tubs run on batteries?” Taylor asks.

“Hot tubs for ants.” He sighs. “Hey, if I’m alone for the rest of my life, you’ll still visit, right?”

“Of course,” Taylor says. “You can live in my basement. I won’t even make you pay rent.” She hums as she sneaks a glance at Sidney, studying him. “You don’t have to tell me this, but. Did you love Thomas?”

“I don’t know,” Sidney says. He doesn’t know a lot of things lately.

When Geno calls him that night, Sidney doesn’t pick up.

He doesn’t pick up the next morning, the next night, or the night after that.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

There’s about fifteen unread texts and five missed calls on his phone by the time Sidney falls asleep to Meg Ryan on TV sniffling, “I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Geno’s birthday comes and goes, but Sidney doesn’t realize it until the morning after, when he could barely drag himself out of bed for his run.

He misses the sunrise, and another sunset, for that matter.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You usually go to Vail around this time, don’t you?” Flower say, his voice coming out that much louder and grainier on speaker. “Have you been in Cole Harbour the  _entire_ time?”

“I don’t need this from you,” Sidney groans. “You said this was an emergency call.”

“This is an emergency,” Flower says, his voice turning serious. “Sidney, I’m worried about you. Tanger’s worried. Phil texted me to check if you’ve died. The entire team says you’ve been living off the grid. You’re turning into Bear Grylls.”

“Off the—Flower, I’m just at home. I have a working stove and toilet and everything.”

“Is this about the Cup?”

“No, I—it’s not the Cup, no.”

“Sidney.”

“I’m serious!” There’s no other way to get Flower off his back. “I got dumped, okay? Well, I got dumped after I came home. But that’s not why I came here.”

“I’m sorry,” Flower says, not missing a beat, and he truly does sound sincere. “Do you want to talk about it? I didn’t even know you were dating anyone in Pittsburgh.”

“I wasn’t.” He gulps down the lump in his throat. “I met him when I was grocery shopping here. It’s not a big deal.”

Flower is silent, but Sidney can almost hear the gears in his head turning.

“Is he Russian?” is the first thing Flower says.

“Is he—what? No, why does everyone keep asking that?”

“Just wondering. Hey, does Geno know?”

“He knows.” Sidney starts to pick at a loose thread on his t-shirt. “I didn’t tell him the details though, but he tried to ask.”

“You can’t hide from Geno forever, you know.”

“I’m not hiding from anyone,” Sidney says defensively.

“Well, Geno’s texted me about a dozen times asking if I knew what you were up to. I keep telling him that I’m literally equally as far from you physically, but he’s not getting it.” Flower goes on before Sidney can cut in, “All I’m saying is, at least call him so he doesn’t worry himself into a heart attack in Russia.”

“I’ll call later,” Sidney says.

“I’ll find out if you didn’t,” Flower sing-songs, then sobers up. “I really will. I’m the next person in his panic-queue.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Oh, and Sid? One more thing. You know we all love you, right? I don’t care who you date. We’d all like to meet them whenever you’re ready.”

Sidney swallows thickly, biting this lip and willing himself not to break. “Love you too, Flower.”

“I just want you to be happy. Geno does, too.”

“We’re on the same page then,” Sidney laughs, a little throatily.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Hi, G,” Sidney says, clutching his pillow to his chest. He’s a little too drunk on Geno’s bottle and his entire body feels like he’s fighting to swim against a current of goo when he crawled from the kitchen back into bed. “Happy belated birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t call—I—I should’ve called. I saw the penguins you had on your story. Really cute.”

“Birthday few days ago. Is almost  _your_ birthday now,” Geno murmurs warmly, sounding so familiar and wonderful that it churns painfully at Sidney’s insides. He sounds glad to hear Sidney, and if that doesn’t make the guilt bite harder. “Is so late there. You not sleep? Break routine, is end of world.”

“It’s not that late.”

“Should be 2 AM there.” Silence, then, “Everything okay?”

That was all it took, apparently.

“Not really,” Sidney croaks out, his throat catching, then loses it completely.

“Oh, Sid,  _Sid_ ,” Geno is saying, as Sidney tries to steady his own breathing. “Slow down, I’m—I’m not understand—is okay, you’ll be okay. Shh, Sid, shh. Is okay.”

He can’t, as much as he wants to. He’s making a mess of his sleeve and he’s halfway baffled because he hadn’t cried when Thomas collected his things, hadn’t cried in what seems to be years. But now, he’s gasping like all the air’s been vacuumed out from the room, and bitter, pathetic, unrelenting tears are falling like there’s nothing that can possibly fix him. Like he’s eight again, still afraid of the parents during games shouting ugly, ugly words at him, afraid of the other players coming at him with the intent to shatter, afraid he’ll be fighting alone until he does break in two and can’t tape himself back together like usual.

“‘t’s just me again,” he blubbers out. He doesn’t think the noises he’s making sound human. “I thought I could love him but I was just being selfish. He didn’t want me and you don’t want me and I’m back in this house by myself and I miss you.”

Geno clucks his tongue, like someone had driven a spear through his chest. “ _Sidney_ —”

“I miss you so fucking bad, but I’m so stupid because I know you have a girlfriend, and that’s okay. That’s—that’s  _awesome_ for you, that’s—I’m glad you’re happy. I  _want_ you to be. But you keep sending me photos and saying you wished I were there, and I keep waking up pretending that maybe today, I can make you happy—”

“Sidney, no, is not stupid. You—you make me  _most_ happy, I  _do_ want you—”

(A part of Sidney wishes that if Geno says his name enough times, it’d be enough to sew his own heart back together, enough to make him whole and good enough for someone to want to stay.)

“No, you don’t. Not like that.” The tears are coming out slower now, the flood now being replaced with something sour and shameful. “That’s why I’ve been staying in Cole Harbour. I want to go home but I’m already home. I don’t know what to do.”

“Sid,” Geno says again, firmly. “You have bear?”

“Bear?” He blinks—the world is a fuzzy blur around him. “Wha?”

“Bear I give you,” Geno insists. “You have?”

“Zhenya?” Sidney looks at the windowsill. Zhenya the Bear had been keeping watch across the lake all this time, facing away from Sidney, like he’s gazing across it all to wherever Geno is. “I have him.”

Geno falters at the name. “Sid, before I not tell you what bear name mean. Want to make surprise, but can’t wait. Sid, you listen?”

He nods, forgetting Geno can’t see him. “Yeah,” he says, his voice coming out reedy.

“Zhenya is special name, save for most important people, people I love.” Geno continues softly, “Save for family, and now save for you. You understand? Is my nickname. I’m give you bear because can’t be there right now with you. Is silly, maybe is embarrassing thing for babies, but I see him in store, and I think is best way to show you. You have my name. You have Geno, you have Zhenya, you have me. Always have me.”

It’s too much. The alcohol and the declaration is blending together into confusion and exhaustion.

“Zhenya,” Sidney tells him, barely able to keep his eyes open any longer. “I’m so tired.”

“Go sleep, Sid,” Geno says. “Is very late. Need wake up at 5 AM and be best hockey player in world.”

“Don’t go,” he sniffs. He’s sure he’s nearly incoherent at this point. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m not hang up,” Geno promises. “Sleep. I’m tell you my day with Mama. Go visit her yesterday, because she want to make this cookie, is like childhood dessert for me and Denis, very old recipe—”

Sidney doesn’t even make it past the second sentence before he’s out like a light.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Where are you, man?” Nate’s voice crackles through on the receiver. “I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes. I think this old lady thinks I got stood up. Or I’m loitering. Maybe both.”

“Shit.” Sidney smacks a palm to his forehead. Everything  _hurts_ —his head, his eyes, his insides. “I’m so sorry, I overslept. Fuck, I’m getting up now.”

He sits up, and immediately doubles over. He has to take several seconds before the nausea subsides.

Nate makes a concerned noise. “You okay? We can reschedule.”

“Yeah, yeah, that might…” Deep breathes. “Might be the best.”

He fumbles for his phone, then notices the four hour call with Geno on his history, and everything comes back like a slap.

He barely makes it to the bathroom before he starts dry heaving.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“ _Geno? Hi, I’m—I want to apologize for…for everything. It was unfair of me to put that on y—I should’ve never said anything. Please give me a call back. I’m sorry_.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Ten messages later, and Sidney’s notifications remain silent for the first time in months.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I messed up, Flower,” Sidney garbles out. “I messed it up.”

Flower’s murmurs do little to soothe, but Sidney holds onto his voice like a lifeline.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The days come and go as usual, and Sidney still wakes up with the sun. Only now it seems that much quieter.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Sidney’s sitting on the docks, his legs dangling over the edge as the music and laughter from his backyard plays on like a half-forgotten soundtrack. Thirty-one and still the same as he was when he was eighteen, lonely and tired and feeling like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, only now he’s admitting that his knees are buckling.

“What did you wish for?” Taylor asks, when he’d blown out the candles a few moments ago.

 _A miracle_ , he thinks.

“A Cup, what else?” he fibs, and his friends laugh uproariously as they yell, ‘ _Don’t say it out loud, you’ll jinx it!’_  His father pats him on the back, and Taylor looks so sad and lost for him that he has to turn away, excusing himself from the crowd.

He hears footsteps creaking up behind him, and he sighs. “Taylor, I’ll be back in a bit, I just wanted some air—”

“Sid, you miss own party?” the voice says softly.

Sidney whips around so quickly he nearly topples himself off the ledge. The same face, same eyes, same smile that Sidney has loved for years and years, standing on the docks holding a lopsided chocolate chip cheesecake that looks like it’s seen better days.

“Is that—” He points at Geno’s hands. He can’t breathe. “Did you—”

“Made it with Taylor, couldn’t bring back the one I see in Russia. Not the same but…hope is still taste good.” He sets the cake down, takes one hesitant step forward. “Happy birthday, Sid.”

Sidney scrambles to his feet and flies into Geno’s open arms. He almost trips at the last step on that one creaky floorboard that he keeps telling himself he should fix before he goes back to Pittsburgh, but Geno reaches out, catches him and holds him close like he can’t imagine ever letting Sidney go in the first place.

“Should have come sooner, sorry take so long,” Geno murmurs into Sidney’s curls. “Should have come with you to Cole Harbour from beginning. Want to tell you how I feel at end of season, but then you say you already date someone, and I’m get scared—at first, you know, think need to be happy for you, but maybe not so good at it because I’m send pictures and things anyways to try win you back and hope not too late—then you  _call_ , and—”

“But  _you’re_ the one dating someone else,” Sidney hiccups out.

Geno places his hand tenderly on Sidney’s cheek, like he’s cupping Sidney’s entire soul. “Always been you. I’m just waiting for you.”

“Geno,” Sidney says. His heart feels like it’s being pulled taut like piano strings, crying out everything he can’t articulate as he hopes that Geno understands. “ _Zhenya_.”

Geno clasps his hand, the other one tipping up Sidney’s chin to place one, two kisses on Sidney’s reddened cheeks. “Don’t cry, Sid.”

He doesn’t care as he misses another sunset, not when Geno’s bending him back to kiss him right, tender and sweet.

“How long are you staying?” Sidney gasps out, because he has to know. “When’s your flight back?”

“Oh, Sid,” Geno laughs, bright and airy, and it’s really such a wonderful thing to hear. “I’m just come home, why I’m go again?”

He closes his eyes as Geno leans in for the third kiss, as his own once-still heart finally,  _finally_ lurches that blissful two beats forward that he’s been waiting for.

 

 

 

 


End file.
